Chapter Thirteen Tears Don’t Fall
Chapter Thirteen:
Tears Don’t Fall
Alaina
“So tell me,” Tasha says, “What about your life has changed since you opened up about your past?”
Faking a nervous laugh, I scan the crowd for a face to focus on.
I choose an older lady with wide-rimmed glasses and cherry red hair.
She’ll do, just so I can get through this without staring at my hands.
I’ve never loved talk shows. “A lot, actually. For years, I lived in silent shame, always trying to make sure my identity stayed hidden. Now that I’ve learned to accept it and almost embrace it, I sleep a lot better at night. ”
Cherry Red settles into her seat with a polite level of applause as Tasha continues. “Some would say you’ve embraced it a little too much, even going so far as to change your legal last name?”
This shit again. How many fucking times do I have to explain it?
“Barclay is obviously the name I was born with, it just wasn’t official.
I wasn’t given a birth certificate until I was adopted because my parents hid my existence from the world, and I kept my adoptive name for years.
But something I’ve learned along this journey is that we shouldn’t be ashamed of where we’ve been, only hopeful of where we’re headed.
I came into this world as Alaina Barclay, and that’s how I’ll go out. ”
More scattered applause, but I can tell it’s not the uplifting message I wanted it to be. It never is.
“That’s one way to look at it,” she agrees with tight lips. “Do you still speak to your parents?”
They’re on death row for forty-three counts of kidnapping, forty-three counts of first degree murder, and a smattering of other felonies ranging from assault with a deadly weapon to abuse of a corpse.
No, I don’t fucking talk to them.
“No, I don’t. They’re where they deserve to be and I’ve never had much to say to them. That hasn’t changed.”
Smiling a little, she moves closer like we’re about to share a secret. “Well, speaking of people you do have something to say to, would you like to address a certain rumor?”
What a cunt.
She’s lucky I’m under contract.
“What rumor would that be?”
Tasha waves a hand to the audience as they erupt, all shouting the same name.
Bash.
Fuck it, I’m gonna make her say it.
“There are rumors abound that you and a certain rock god had a little tryst, and a pretty public breakup. How did that happen?”
One. Two. Three.
Waving a hand, I mask my emotions until all that’s visible on my face is a kind of flattered embarrassment.
“No trysts, no breakup. It was a misunderstanding that has since been cleared up, and I’ve already apologized for the scene I caused at the meet and greet dinner.
I personally refunded every single one of the ticket holders who lodged a complaint.
” For the scene I didn’t cause, he did. I didn’t even get to fucking eat.
“Do you have any relevant questions for me, Tasha?”
My focus moves back to Cherry Red as Tasha continues, getting a little more on topic and a little less petty. I know who I am. I know what they say about me.
None of them can hurt me.
“A few families have come forward questioning whether or not your parents killed their loved ones. They have forty-three confirmed victims, do you think there were more? Is there any credence to what these families are saying?”
“They have names,” I respond a little sharply.
“The McKendricks are still searching for their daughter Layla, the Jones’ for their sister Kiara, and the Lyons are still trying to figure out why their mother Diane never came home.
They have names, they have stories, and whether or not they were victims of my parents, we have to stop letting serial killers get all the attention.
Say their names. Remember their faces. And yes, for what it’s worth. .. I think they did it.”
A hush falls over the crowd, and by now, Cherry Red has figured out she’s my anchor. She smiles softly at me, holding her hand to her heart in support.
“Have you told the police this? The word on the street is that they’re not looking to reopen your parents’ case.”
“Of course they’re not. Greg and Antoinetta Barclay are on death row for their crimes already, you can’t exactly punish them further.
But these families still deserve justice, so yes.
I’ve offered to speak to police if for nothing else than to close the cases and give the Lyons, the McKendricks, and the Jones’ some closure. ”
Red claps along with the rest of them, but I see the people whispering around her.
I have my fair share of supporters, of people who understand I had nothing to do with the horrors my parents inflicted — yet there will always be those who blame me even though I was still a child when they were arrested.
I should’ve seen the signs, they say. I should’ve said something.
While I agree in hindsight, I have to remind myself that I’d never blame another child for this, so why blame myself? I have my own mistakes to atone for, I don’t need to add theirs on top of them.
Especially since I’m a victim of Greg and Antonietta Barclay, too.
“I think that’s all the time we’ve got today, Alaina. Thank you for your time, and to those watching from home, make sure you check out the newest Barclay documentary series. It’s quite the ride.”
She couldn’t be bothered to plug the name, but I don’t correct her. I take my cue to leave the stage and check my phone, glossing over the notifications from Brooke, my agent, and a reminder about a dentist appointment in two days to search for something, anything from Bash.
There’s nothing.
I didn’t imagine there would be, but I hoped maybe he’d be nice enough to thank me for covering his ass.
I could’ve told the world what happened, could’ve let him take the blame for the dinner.
I could’ve fucked his whole world up by announcing a fake pregnancy on one of the most popular daytime talk shows on air right now.
But I didn’t.
I’m not a liar, and I’m not above taking accountability.
One of the perks of being traumatized is the self-awareness that comes with it.
I don’t always make the right decisions and I’ve fucked more things up in my life than I’ve ever gotten right, but the one thing I’ve learned in the last few months is that I need to take several steps back.
Instead of chasing childhood ghosts, I should help the families I just defended and other people like me, who weren’t as lucky as I was to be adopted by parents who set things right.
They hired tutors to help me catch up and gave me an identity.
They gave me a home. And while they eventually hurt me in their own way, I am who I am because they gave me a shot.
There are countless other people out there, kids just like me, building walls to stop the rot.
That’s who I should be focusing on, not rockstars who think I’m a ghost.
He was in the past for a reason.